


Do Witchers Dream of Wolves or Sheep

by plaid_knockabout



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballads, Fluff, Idiots, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Singing, ballad stanza is really hard to write, geralt cries, i hate syllables, please enjoy my bad poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaid_knockabout/pseuds/plaid_knockabout
Summary: Jaskier let out a sigh. “Oh my love,”Love? His love?Geralt wondered who the bard was talking to now. Perhaps he had begun to drift off into some sort of dream himself. However, before Geralt was able to draw any conclusions, Jaskier started to hum quietly.Geralt was wholly enraptured. He lay stock still, following the bittersweet rise and fall of the bard’s voice. Each graceful dip in pitch a valley for him to traverse, each ascent, a sloping hill. He walked the trail of his voice until he found himself nearing sleep once more. Then, softer than any rain that could have fallen in that land of which he had so beautifully conceived, Jaskier began to sing…***Jaskier pours his heart out to Geralt while he thinks the Witcher is asleep... He is not asleep...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 52
Kudos: 450





	Do Witchers Dream of Wolves or Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> this is the product of me seeing the title of the book ‘do androids dream of electric sheep’, listening exclusively to ‘soudoire valley song’ and ‘never quite free’ by the mountain goats, and bingeing the polish witcher to cope
> 
> hope you enjoy :^)

The wavering light thrown from the fire danced across Jaskier’s face. He had his head bowed, but Geralt could still see the soft smile that curled his lips. He was cradling his lute, fingers flitting from string to string noncommittally, drawing the occasional sweet note. Geralt loved moments like this, much more than he was willing to admit. He loved the warmth, the softness, how he could feel at peace even if only for a little while. He figured there were a set number of these moments granted to every man, and well, knowing the type of man he was, he never really expected to be given any. But fate had already bestowed upon him much more than he could have ever hoped for. His eyes traced the soft lines of the bard’s silhouette, committing every gentle curve, every flickering edge to memory. 

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about love?” Jaskier’s hands continued to caress the strings but he had raised his head to fix Geralt with a more serious look than the Witcher would have expected to accompany a question of that nature.

“What?” Confusion creased Geralt’s brow.

The staid expression quickly dissolved from Jaskier’s face, leaving behind only his usual levity. “I mean, you’re only huma-- witch-- man. You’re a man, let’s go with man. You are but a man! Surely, your mind must occasionally entertain, er, amorous thoughts?”

Geralt shook his head, a small smile inching its way onto his lips. “Are you asking whether or not a Witcher can love?” Geralt knew that wasn’t what Jaskier had meant, but thought mock offence could distract the bard long enough to allow him to gather his wits.

Jaskier must not have heeded the humour in his voice for he stopped his strumming and raised a placating hand. “No! No, not at all! I know they can, I know you can anyway, I just meant… have you… recently… ah, I don’t know what I meant, I suppose I’m just in a, er, rather fanciful mood this evening. Perhaps it’s the weather, or the fire…”

A blush had crept up Jaskier’s cheeks and Geralt gave a little huff that would have been a laugh if he were any other man.“It’s alright, Jaskier.” The bard relaxed his shoulders and set his hand upon his lute once again, however, no melody was forthcoming. 

Geralt nodded, “Yes.”

“Huh?” Wide blue eyes looked on in surprise.

It was a pleasant enough night, warm and heavy… Pleasant enough that Geralt was willing to humour the bard. Or at least that’s the reason Geralt gave to himself as to why he allowed this conversation to continue.

“I do think of love. Occasionally.” In all truth, Geralt had found himself ‘entertaining amorous thoughts’ with increasing frequency as of late.

“Oh, ah, thought so.” Jaskier dropped his eyes to the shadowy grass he was sprawled out on. 

Geralt couldn’t contain the almost-laugh that welled up in his chest. “If you thought so, why ask?” What a fool his bard was. What a dear fool.

“I don't know! The weather, the fire! The heady scent that's drifting down from the flowering branches overhead! I’m a bard, what do you expect!”

Geralt was grinning now, it was an unfamiliar sensation, that tugging of his lips, but it was not at all unwelcome. “Nothing less, bard,” He shifted where he sat on the ground and slowly lay down on his back. “Nothing less.”

Jaskier laughed at that, a real laugh-- his beautiful laugh. Geralt thought that was probably his favourite sound in the whole world. He brought a hand to rest behind his head and gave a contented sigh. With another little laugh, Jaskier picked himself up off the ground and, abandoning his lute, came round the fire to lie beside the Witcher.

The wind rustled through the boughs above them, swaying the leaves and blossoms aside now and then so that the dark sky with its million shining pinpricks could be seen.

“They’re lilacs.” Geralt murmured.

“Eh?” 

“The flowers, they’re lilacs.” The blooms stared down at him like a thousand twinkling eyes in the starlight.

“Oh! Yes, they are indeed. How lovely!” Geralt could see Jaskier’s gentle smile light up his face out of the corner of his eye. He watched as that smile bloomed into a smirk. “Hold on, how do you know that?” 

“Can’t remember.” He lied. “They mean ‘true love’ apparently.” Though based on his own experience with the flower, he didn’t know how much truth that sentiment carried.

Jaskier giggled, “You do know _I’m_ the bard here, right?” He rolled over to face Geralt and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “If you keep on like this, I’ll be out of a job.”

Geralt turned his head to see the humour of the bard’s words mirrored on his beloved face. “Don’t worry, Jaskier, no one’s going to pay to listen to a Witcher’s poetry.” 

Geralt got a poke to the ribs. “I would! I’d pay good fucking money!”

The smile fell slowly from Geralt’s face. “I know you would.” A pit opened up at the base of his stomach. “You’re a notable exception. People don’t like to think about Witchers that way.”

Jaskier scrunched up his nose and brow. “What? As bards? ‘Cause I’d reckon--”

“No-- No. As living, feeling beings. As beings capable of love.” Geralt turned his head to stare back up at the lilacs. “Who would want to hear a butcher tell you how to raise a lamb? How could he possibly know enough to speak on it?” The many-petaled eyes bore into him. “What could a Witcher know of lilacs or love?”

“Oh, Geralt,” A warm hand pressed itself into his arm and he didn’t have the heart to pull away from it. “You know quite a bit it seems.” Jaskier’s voice was soft and he could hear the tender smile that surely graced his lips. The Witcher’s heart clenched in his chest. 

“It doesn’t matter what I know. I may think of love all I want, I could wax fucking poetic, but really, it doesn’t matter.” Geralt took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “No one, _no one_ , could love a Witcher.” 

“Well, you never know, maybe someone out there does.” Geralt wanted to believe him, more than he wanted anything. Well, perhaps not anything, he could think of one thing he wanted more.

“No, Jaskier. No one.”

“You really can’t think like that, Geralt.” The bard’s hand rubbed gently up and down his arm and Geralt had to close his eyes against the heavy ache that shuddered through him. “When you said that you think about love-- Well, I thought-- Surely, you must sometimes think of it in a way not so overshadowed by sorrow. That your mind must stray away from monsters-- Your thoughts must wander to flowery fields and maidens fair. Surely, you must thrill. You must dream.” 

“I may think of love, Jaskier, but I am not foolish enough to dream about it.” He allowed himself the comfort of Jaskier’s hand for one more moment before turning away from the bard completely. 

“Geralt, I didn’t mean to--” Hurt coloured Jaskier’s sweet voice. Still, Geralt couldn’t let this conversation continue, not without saying something he would regret. He shouldn’t have allowed it to progress this far to begin with. 

A sigh heaved its way through him. “I know, Jaskier.”

“Geralt,” Insistence joined the hurt.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

Jaskier matched his sigh, “Goodnight.”

He heard the bard shuffle to his feet and walk away, presumably to ready himself for bed.

The gentle rhythm of Jaskier’s footfall upon the grass lulled Geralt into something resembling sleep. He only realized he had dozed off at all when he was awoken by the grate of wool against his cheek and a weight passing over him. Jaskier had covered him with Roach’s saddle blanket. Geralt’s chest tightened forcefully. It was still dark behind his eyelids, he must have only been out for a little while. He resolved to fall back asleep before he could properly consider the pain in his chest. He tugged the blanket closer to him.

A soft chuckle sounded beside him. “Knew you were cold.” Geralt was about to dispute that, but the bard kept on talking, “You need to take better care of yourself, you big idiot. Going to sleep without so much as a bedroll…” Geralt felt Jaskier tuck the blanket snug around his back and another stab of anguish sunk into him. “Your back is going to be so sore tomorrow and you’re going to be so cranky.” Nimble fingers swept a stray lock of silver hair behind the Witcher’s ear. The knife lodged in his chest twisted. “Though, really, when are you not cranky?” 

Geralt realized, perhaps belatedly, that Jaskier thought he was still asleep. Some greedy, sticking thing inside him bargained with his better judgement to continue the pretense. His selfishness eventually won out when he felt Jaskier settle next to him, his thigh leaning ever so slightly against Geralt’s back.

“Oh, what are we going to do with you, eh?” Jaskier continued the unrequited conversation. “Can’t have you going around thinking you’re so unloved…” One of his hands came to rub a slow circle into Geralt’s back and the Witcher fought back an appreciative groan. “Can’t exactly tell you though, can I?” His hand stilled, “No, I can’t,” then dropped away. Geralt was so sorry for the loss that he failed to truly comprehend just what Jaskier had been saying, and before he could attempt to recall his words, more came. “What could you be dreaming of now then, if not love?” Geralt could have said in one word what he was dreaming of. What he dreamt of every night. What he knew he would always dream of… 

Jaskier let out a sigh. “Oh my love,” _Love? His love?_ Geralt wondered who the bard was talking to now. Perhaps he had begun to drift off into some sort of dream himself. However, before Geralt was able to draw any conclusions, Jaskier started to hum quietly. 

Geralt was wholly enraptured. He lay stock still, following the bittersweet rise and fall of the bard’s voice. Each graceful dip in pitch a valley for him to traverse, each ascent, a sloping hill. He walked the trail of his voice until he found himself nearing sleep once more. Then, softer than any rain that could have fallen in that land of which he had so beautifully conceived, Jaskier began to sing…

_“Do Witchers dream of wolves or sheep?  
Of monsters or of maidens?  
Indeed, do Witchers dream at all?  
Does woe too greatly plague them? _

_O tell me, tell me, Witcher fair,  
O why do you lie so still?  
Do figments not flit ‘neath your eyes?  
Does nothing cause you to thrill? _

_I know of what my thrills are made,  
For they come to me each night  
They take not form of lamb nor dog,  
Nor of maiden pale and slight _

_The visitant that comes to me,  
Is well known to me by day  
Indeed he now lies next to me,  
Gently slumbering away _

_His eyes and heart are wrought from gold,  
And hair spun fine from silver  
And when he sighs and smiles at me,  
I know I could ne’er waver _

_O Witcher, Witcher do you know?  
Just how much to me you mean?  
You are my every deep desire,  
And my every single dream _

_So I ask you, love, once more,  
O what creatures fill your head?  
Flocks or packs or true-lovers sweet,  
Who faithfully warm your bed? _

_You tell me that there is no one,  
Who yearns to be your lover  
But you do not, and can not know,  
My heart beats for no other _

_For you I’d walk the whole world o’er,  
I’d cross swords with every man  
Scale every mountain sheer and rough,  
Swim every cold sea I can _

_So tell me not, there is no one,  
For your dreams to be fed with  
Nay, tell me not there is no soul,  
For you to share your bed with_

_Whatever you may say or do,  
From your side I shan’t depart  
Wherever you may roam, my love,  
Tethered to you is my heart_

_Still, prithee tarry not from me,  
For beast nor wand’ring woman  
I beg you, Witcher, lay by me,  
Though I be low and common _

_Witcher, Witcher how I love thee…  
To think, pains me all too well,  
That ‘neath your weary, sleep-shut eyes,  
I may never get to dwell _

_And so I must ask you again,  
If not sheep or wolves or love,  
What is it then in this wide world,  
That Witchers’ dreams are made of?”_

Geralt was-- Geralt didn’t know what he was. He was so full of everything that he was nothing at all. No thoughts, no words came to him then… Save one, over and over and over: _Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier…_ Before he knew what he was doing, Geralt was sitting up-- _Jaskier--_ He was reaching out-- _Jaskier--_ He was staring into frightened blue eyes.

 _“Jaskier?”_

“Oh dear gods-- Geralt! You-- You were-- Were you awake?!” Jaskier recoiled, ducking his head and avoiding Geralt’s desperate gaze.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice came low, he was clutching the bard’s slight shoulders and he could feel him jolt under his hands. “Look, Geralt, Hah! I didn’t-- I mean--” 

“Jaskier.” Fear was pouring off the bard in droves. Geralt creased his brow, _why was he so afraid?_

“I’m sorry, Geralt, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever bring it up again--” Geralt didn’t like the sound of that at all but in his dazed state, the only objection he could make was,

“Jaskier.”

“Please forgive me, Geralt, I--” Geralt’s grip on him tightened.

 _“Jaskier.”_ The bard fell silent.

Jaskier raised his head, hesitated, then cautiously met Geralt’s eye. “Geralt?” 

“Jaskier. I--” Carefully, Geralt brought his hands to frame the face he loved so well. 

“Geralt?” He spoke at a whisper then, the word barely escaping his lips before dissipating like mist into the night air.

“Jaskier.” Golden eyes fell to the bard’s lips and lingered there, captive. “Jaskier, can I?”

“Dear gods, yes!” All traces of fear were wicked away from his countenance and he nodded frantically as he pushed in to close the gap between them.

Geralt kissed him with everything he didn’t know how to say and Jaskier understood perfectly. Geralt couldn’t remember ever being kissed like this, ever being understood like this. Jaskier’s tongue found its way past the seam of lips and Geralt couldn’t help the groan that rattled through him at the deepening of the kiss. Jaskier made a happy noise of his own and wound his arms around the back of Geralt’s neck tight. They broke apart only for lack of air and Geralt could feel a smile begin to curl his tingling lips.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier beamed at him, brighter than any star overhead and far, far lovelier.

“Jaskier. You. I-- You.” His words continued to fail him, but his heart was so full, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Jaskier’s laugh echoed through the grassy clearing. “I’m awfully sorry, Geralt, but you’re going to have to give me a bit more to work with here.” 

“You. Jaskier.” Geralt brushed his thumbs reverently over Jaskier’s cheekbones.

“Me? Yes, go on,” Delicate hands tangled themselves into silver hair.

Geralt struggled to attain something resembling coherency. “I-- Witcher’s dream-- What is it that Witchers’ dreams are made of-- You-- Witcher’s dreams are made of you-- My dreams are-- You.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier melted against him completely, tugging him down for another kiss.

When they came up for air, a question was burning in Geralt’s chest. “Did-- Did you mean it?-- Your heart-- You love-- Me?” His heart pounded in his throat; he couldn’t recall ever being so terrified while awaiting an answer.

“Of course I meant it, you big idiot!” Jaskier slid his arms down around Geralt’s shoulders and squeezed. “I love you, have done for ages, ‘fraid I always will.”

Geralt’s eyes prickled strangely and he could feel an unfamiliar dampness spread down his cheeks. “I love you-- too-- Jaskier.”

“C’mere,” Jaskier blinked rapidly and pulled him close. He held Geralt there, against his chest, for a small yet wonderful eternity. 

Jaskier gave a sniffle and a watery laugh as he shifted to see Geralt’s face, “Looks like I don’t have to fear for my job after all,”

“Is that so?” Geralt reached up to sweep a tear from the bard’s cheek.

“Yes it is. You may be able to think about love, Geralt, dream about it even, but you certainly cannot talk about it.” 

Geralt couldn’t stop the deep laugh that rumbled through him then, and with another laugh, he realized he didn’t need to. He brought his lips to Jaskier’s once more, basking in the glow of love that warmed every inch of his being. No more words were required for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!!!!!! hope it made you smile!!!!!
> 
> let me know what you thought if you like <3
> 
> stay safe out there y'all
> 
> :^)


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